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A man who is never going to have me.
An enigma who has love only for his dead fiancée.
The day after my date with Rhys, I wake up to an empty house. With Georgie at work and my parents gone for the weekend for a wedding, I decide to tidy up the place. Afterward, I pay a visit to Mrs.E, an elderly neighbor. I promised I would drive her downtown for a book club meeting. We stop beforehand to enjoy a key lime pie and some tea and catch up.
When I pull my parents’ car in front of my porch, an odd vision comes alive in front of me. Of a man standing in front of my door, his silhouette tall, imposing, and dark—so dark I can feel the temperature dropping around him—holding a bouquet of flowers. I kill the engine and sit back, glaring at the unbelievable sight in front of me.
I can’t see his face, because he has his back to me, but I can see the flowers, and they’re not the romantic red roses Rhys brought overyesterday. No. They’re gorgeous and colorful and surprising. Red dahlias and purple orchids and pink tulips and yellow gazanias. Pale lilacs and orange marigolds and beautiful daisies. It is rich and dazzling and giant andmessy. So messy. It takes my breath away, just like the man who is holding it.
My pulse quickens under my skin, and my stomach dips. I draw in a breath, the oxygen hitting the bottom of my lungs. I push the driver’s door open and make my way toward him, up the stairway to the front porch. He turns around when he sees me through the reflection of the screen-and-glass door, his face betraying nothing.
I stop in front of him. I want to fling my arms around his neck and hug him, but I don’t know what’s appropriate and what’s not. I don’t know what we are to each other. He is the kind of man who never shows you where you stand with him.
“You’re ... here.” I blink, still wondering if it’s all a dream.
A dream or a nightmare? Can you put your heart on the line again?
He hands me the flowers, completely at ease, like the last time he was here didn’t end up in a third world war.
“For you.”
“That’s ... a lot of flowers,” I observe.
“One for each facet of your personality,” he remarks dryly. “I’ve yet to determine whether you’re too sweet or too assertive.”
“You didn’t sue me.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Yeah, well, I thought it would be a terrible inconvenience if I ever decided to date you.”
“Ifyoudecided to dateme?” I arch an eyebrow, grinning. This isnothow one asks a woman on a date. At the same time, every cell in my body blossoms. I’m so excited, there’s a real possibility I am about to throw up on his shoes. Which I absolutely cannot afford to replace, seeing as I’ve yet to start my new job and am still paying the bills on a vacant apartment in Manhattan. “Last I heard, you shredded mycontract in front of an audience at Calypso Hall. Not exactly the stuff love declarations are made of.”
He strolls over to one of the rocking chairs on the porch and takes a seat, crossing his legs at the ankles on the table. “Come on, Winnifred, it’s unlike you to hold a grudge.”
“It’s unlike you to care so much about an employee.” I remain standing, folding my arms over my chest. “Why’re you here?”
He looks up at me, and the mocking scorn is gone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face so naked.
“You know why Mars was named after the god of war?” he muses, squinting up at the sky. “It’s because it has two moons called Deimos and Phobos. The two horses that pull the god of war’s chariot. For me, those horses are my friends, Riggs and Christian. They have an annoying habit of talking sense into me.”
“Are you impaired?” I squint. “I just asked you why you’re here.”
“I’ll tell you exactly why I’m here. But first, sit.” He pats the chair beside himself. “And tell me all about your new life in Mulberry Creek. Spare no detail.”
It is a bizarre situation, but then again, everything about my interactions with Arsène is usually on the weird side. I think that’s what drew me to him in the first place. The delicious feeling of never knowing what I’m going to get from him next.
I sit beside him, worming my fingers together to keep myself from rubbing at my chin.
“Tell me.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What have you been up to?”
The words pour out of me without warning. Without heed. Like I’ve been saving them all for him. I tell him about my sisters, about Lizzy’s new baby, about my volunteer work, andRomeo and Juliet, and my upcoming job. I try to sound upbeat, still unsure about his motives and not wanting to look desperate for him.
He said hemightdecide to date me, not that he has any intention of ever asking me out. And even if he does want to date me—should I want to date him? He is a million times more dangerous than Paul was. More sophisticated, quick tongued, and ruthless. If losing Paul broke me into pieces, losing Arsène would shatter me into dust.
Last but not least, Arsène lives in New York. As of now, I live in Tennessee and have made a commitment to a job that’s due to start in three weeks. That’s plenty of reason to keep my cards close to the chest.
“And Lizzy’s baby, Arsène. Oh, she is a little doll. Too squishy for words!” I gasp.
“Speaking of Lizzy’s baby.” He sits back in his recliner. “Have you seen the doctor to discuss your future procreation options?”
